


Lucky I'm Drunk

by limitlessrose (shinealightrose)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Catboy Roommates, Catboy Roommates Friends to Lovers, Catboys, Humor, Just a little boning, M/M, Stupid Drunks, Talk about boning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23167564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinealightrose/pseuds/limitlessrose
Summary: Yuta says some crazy things when he’s drinking, and usually the same thing over and over again.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Nakamoto Yuta
Comments: 3
Kudos: 106





	Lucky I'm Drunk

**Author's Note:**

> I took this from an old fic, enriched it, expanded it. Gave everybody cat ears and tails bc why not. Cuddly catboys ftw. Enjoy 
> 
> Warnings: Lots of drinking, drunken propositions, discussions of hypothetical boning, Firefly TV marathons (no spoilers of course!)   
> >>Actual boning not while drunk<<

It starts at approximately fifteen minutes past the hour, midnight time, coffee table scattered with empty bottles of beer. There are a few that are still half full, but they’re well beyond the reach of either Yuta or Mark's arms that it's not even worth bending over to get. Though, Mark’s tail does occasionally swish past the closest one with interest. 

The nearest unopened bottles are by their feet anyway, tucked away for easy access on the floor by the couch. Mark doubts they'll even get to those tonight because Yuta is well beyond drunk. His ears keep twitching like they don’t know why he’s still awake. Mark can barely see straight. That’s when Yuta pauses the TV marathon they're currently engaged in, turns toward him seriously and slowly slurs out his speech. 

"You. You, you're lucky I'm drunk. Otherwise, I would bone you into another universe." Yuta's eyes are so glazed, and it's a wonder Mark can even see this because his are too. They’re so drunk. They’re two drunk cat friend besties alone in a house at night, but Mark thinks that’s great. 

"You too, man. Youuuu tooooo. Yo! Now quit messing with the TV. I wanna know what happens when Cap’ain Mal finds out there's a half-naked hostage-not-a-hostage on his ship, man, okay!?"

Yuta nods, because this is serious business. Like they've never stayed up into the early Saturday morning watching Firefly before, even though the show is like all shows on TV, devoid of representative catboys. That’s okay though, because Mark and Yuta, they’re buds, and it’s not like they’ve never done this before. Not like they’ve never shared a pack and a half of imitation artisan beer. Not like they've never been so totally out of it they contemplated making out. And other things.

They haven't though. It's a well thought out and occasionally tried plan to Never Get Involved with each other, because friends don't do that shit and live to walk another day. That's why it's best to get so pissed that who cares if Mark has a boner. He's not going to mess with it and neither is Yuta. Not with a ten-foot pole, and he's just drunk enough to try to complicate what life would be like with a boner ten feet long. Then Yuta hits play on the TV again and screw that shit.

He's out on a date with the cutest little catgirl in the universe, half-heartedly grinding her tail on the crowded dance floor with a cocktail in his hand high up above their heads. Life may be sweet somewhere down there in the vicinity of his crotch, but this Mai Tai with the little orange umbrella cost a lot of money that Mark could be spending on packs of beer, and he's not willing to waste a drop of it. 

His phone is set to buzz, a little sensation in his back pocket that has nothing to do with the getting-close-to-blissed-drunk face of his date with her bouncing reddish hair and freckled, button nose. He takes his free hand off the curve of her waist and fishes it out, still buzzing, and smirks at the image of Yuta's caller identification picture: passed out, a little slobber on his cheek, ears pointed back, a stuffed puppy animal toy jammed underneath his armpit. It’s the pride and glory of Mark's collection of embarrassing Yuta pictures, and no matter how many times Yuta has tried to get his hands on Mark's phone to delete the evidence, he’s never been successful.

"Yuta, what's up!" he shouts extra loud into the receiver, grinning mischievously as he continues bobbing up and down on bent knees, hips swaying a little to the beat of the music, kinda sorta. He's probably a little off, if not a lot off.

"Maaaaark!" comes the reciprocal voice. "I'm so fucking coooold. You're lucky, otherwise, I would bone you into the next universe."

It's not the first time he's felt this relieved. Cold, hard dicks? No freaking way. 

"Sounds like a good not-plan!" he shouts, still grinning away. "Where are you anyway!" 

He waits while static settles over the phone and then clears away, Yuta's voice more irritable than normal. "I don't know, but my butt feels like it just hit the surface of a skating rink, my tail fucking aches, and the rest of my legs are headed the same way."

"A skating rink?!" Mark chortles. "What are you, ice skating?"

"No shit, man. I came out when Ten begged me too, and now that leggy son of a bitch is turning flips and loop d' loops around every living thing, cat or human, or something in between. Save me, Mark. I'm gonna freeze to death. My ears are going to fall off.” 

"No way!” Mark laughs. “I'm having too much fun without you!" Mark winks at his cute date to try and assuage her increasingly grumpy look, and then makes the mistake of telling Yuta to find someone else to bone tonight, cuz he's busy. Ten minutes later, Mark is over at the bar alone nursing the last dregs of his Mai Tai, twirling the little umbrella between his fingers wondering if it'd be more fun to make it fly or poke it down Yuta's eye. 

It’s a Wednesday night, and both Yuta and Mark have a shit ton of homework to get done, early morning lectures the next day, and no desire to be productive, school-minded college seniors. Instead, they put on another round of Firefly at barely seven in the evening and break out the beer, phones on silent in case the world decides to intrude and remind them about life. Why fret when you can procrastinate, that's always been Mark's model, in more ways than one. Yuta’s is to nap. Yuta can nap anywhere. On his bed, on the floor, upside down in Mark’s favorite oversized armchair. 

By some miracle, Yuta hasn’t passed out yet, and he’s not yet drunk enough the alcohol’s knocked him out for him. Mark is still pleasantly enjoying the last dregs of sunset spilling into the room, pleased that he’s not occupied with more important matters. 

Shoulder to shoulder with Yuta is about as cramped as Mark likes his world to get. At least there's something familiar about being roommates/BFFs who act like they've known each other since kindergarten but actually only met up during freshman orientation, two wide-eyed, lost, and scared catboys in a sea of humans, and each too macho to admit they were scared. It was friends at first sight, even if most of their acquaintances no longer believe it. Sometimes they make up stories about 'that great summer camping/hiking trip' that never happened when they were fourteen years old, or the first catgirl they crushed on together when they were sixteen (they were actually twenty and had too much about honor between bros to do anything about it). Ten basically wipes his hands of their entire existence when they get too fakely mushy and imaginative just to screw with peoples' heads, and that's why they don't invite  _ him  _ for Firefly marathons. Catboys like that don't deserve catboys like them. 

"God, I love this part..." Yuta starts to gush over the epic takes-too-many-episodes-to-get-into-the-romance subplot, and Mark... yawns. He wants another beer, another bag of potato chips, some nachos, red movie licorice, somebody to scratch behind his ears, a back pillow with fewer lumps, and a cat. A real one, if only to drive Yuta insane when it sleeps in his favorite bucket hat leaving orange fur all over the place. Jaehyun has one who’s done exactly this, but Jaehyun’s a normal human boy who lives off-campus and likes cats. All kinds of cats. He likes Mark too but Mark is… 

Well, Mark supposes he can suffice with just reaching over to get another beer. He starts to twist the lid off in just the palm of his hand, feigning tolerance in pain, and when Yuta launches into giggles at his twisted up face, he relents and uses the bottle opener, ears flattened into his hair for shame. 

Yuta steals the bottle from him instead, right out from under his lips. It spills and droplets of liquid slosh out to land on Mark's nicely wrinkled but totally amazing graphic tee with a not-so-vintage Catwoman, and he hisses in annoyance. "Yuta... damnit! If I wasn't drunk and totally comfy right this minute, I'd get up and beat you over the head with that bottle."

Yuta laughs, completely unfazed. "Yeah yeah. Story of your life."

He downs half the bottle while Mark frowns, contemplating whether or not he should try again with a new bottle or hog his original possession back from where it rests between Yuta's greedy little hands. But Mark is too comfy to move. His tail is resting under him at the perfect angle for once. He's generally way too tired to move. And Yuta is too sloshed to properly fight him, which means they'd probably  _ both _ end up wearing the rest of the bottle's contents. 

An hour later they're right where they always are... silent, sluggish, nudging each other for couch space like that's more important than air itself - and it almost is. Yuta leans over, slumping awkwardly in the way only drunk people can because they have no idea what their bodies are doing. He grins. Mark grins too because, why the hell not. 

Yuta gets so soft like this. Mark instinctively reaches over to pet his white-blond hair. It’s getting too long, sometimes the white triangles of his ears fade right into his head, and you’d never know he was a catboy at all. Like the time that one boy approached Yuta last semester because he thought he was cute, asked him out on a date, and then discovered Yuta had a tail and freaked out. 

Marks remembers it clearly because they spent  _ a long _ time cuddling-not-cuddling on the couch while Yuta nursed a bruised and wounded heart. 

Mark could have killed that kid. He’s vowed to do that if ever it happens again. Thankfully, Yuta’s a champ and after they woke up in an extremely compromising position, neither of them have spoken of it again. Mark doesn’t know exactly why. Was it the boy? Was it them? 

Nah, it couldn’t have been them. They’re just cat bros. And that’s what Mark firmly believes until the moment Yuta laughs, giggles really, and before Mark knows what's about to come, two large hands are caging his ears and Yuta's hot, alcohol-coated breath is right up next to his face, and Yuta just lays it on him. 

Mark is too drunk to push him away, the foreign feeling of Yuta's nasty lips on his. At least, he thinks they're nasty. Yuta keeps a gerbil named Winwin sitting in a glass cage in his room and Mark knows for a fact that he kisses that stinky thing at least once a day.

But he's too drunk to think about Winwin right now, frozen in place as Yuta leans away, smiling like an idiot because, Success! The last part reads plain and clear in his eyes and Mark just ogles him in return.

"Yuta... what the..."

Yuta giggles again and then rolls away playfully in the other direction. "You know... Mark... You're lucky I'm drunk otherwise I would totally bone you into the next universe..." 

Mark breathes heavily, inches slowly away from Yuta, and clutches his tail desperately between his hands. 

‘Lucky I’m drunk.’

He's heard this before plenty. Every time Yuta gets drunk, basically. It's usually not prefaced by a smack on the lips kiss. Or followed by a maddening blush upon Mark's rosy as hell cheeks. It's a joke, right? And Yuta is just a tiny bit beyond BFF-accepted levels inebriated, right? Mark shouldn't look. He absolutely shouldn't look... He knows this is a bad idea, as bad as the time he and Yuta decided to insert Firefly space facts into their short answer midterm for Astronomy 101, aka Astronomy for idiots who should have taken Physics beforehand but didn't. 

He looks. Eyes glancing downwards towards Yuta's crotch and... shit. He really does have a boner. 

How many fucking times has Yuta had a boner and Mark just never. bothered. to. look?!

Even worse is that Yuta catches him looking, and now his face is several shades redder than Mark's. Like a gleaming red delicious compared to Mark's splotchy macintosh. 

"Uhhhh," says Mark, brain spluttering to function. "You know what, Yuta? That's a great idea but uhm," he gulps, "how about we reassess when you're not drunk?"

Yuta looks disappointed, but only minutely so. Mark knows they both just need to sit this one out, give themselves some time to soberly decide whether they go from drunk BFFs to drunk FWBs, or... something.

"Fiiiine," Yuta accepts the drunken reality relatively easy. "Can we watch another episode now though?"

"Episode? What? Huh? Oh. Right!" 

Their marathon is still in session, after all. 

And then, somehow, it’s three in the morning. 

God, Mark feel so fucking  _ hot _ . Not the sexy kind of hot, maybe, maybe not that kind just yet. 

“Yuta,” he groans. 

The TV has faded to black with a grey No Signal sign. Someone turned out the lamp beside him. Oh right, Mark did that hours ago. 

And why does his stomach feel so bad? Maybe cause Mark needs to stop fucking up his liver every other night in an attempt to keep certain thoughts at bay…

Thoughts like Yuta on top of him. 

Which brings him back to the current problem in that Mark is  _ hot _ . 

There’s a body on top of him, a whole giant body with white-blond hair and hands which are, apparently, unconsciously kneading at Mark’s chest. Yuta’s eyes are closed, but his lips are parted and they’re perilously close to the curve of Mark’s throat. Mark whimpers when he feels a wet warmth caressing his skin there. His heart rate rockets. His tail twitches. 

“Yuta?” he begs desperately. Any second now Yuta is going to wake up and then there’s going to be a problem. Namely, that Mark is hard and he’s pretty sure Yuta is too and if either one of them decides on to act on this, bye bye bro life. Hello, something much… different. 

Is that even a bad idea? Mark can’t tell. All he knows right now is that there’s pleasure to be found on this couch, but for heaven’s sake, Yuta needs to wake up right now!

“Yuta!”

Yuta jolts. His eyes fly open, body reacting like he’s been shocked. He stares at Mark, then at his hands as if they’ve blistered from the touch of Mark’s skin. 

“Uhh, oh shit.”

Mark tries to roll his eyes. He thinks he’s failed, but says nevertheless, “Uh. A little late for that?”

For ten whole seconds, he looks into Yuta’s eyes. Yuta looks at his. Mark can see the wheels churching in Yuta’s brain, sees him formulate a phrase so archaic Mark wants to punch him for even trying.

“Lucky… I’m…” 

“Will you shut up. No way you’re still drunk. Can’t we just bone yet?”

Yuta’s expression goes from petrified to shocked to hesitant in a matter of seconds. It takes a bit longer for his smile to resurface. Mark watches the exact movement of his lips and the softening of his eyes. This is the moment of no return. Sober and ready, Mark intentionally sinks his body further into the couch. His ears flatten, and Yuta’s perk up. Offering and acceptance. And fuuck, the moment Yuta lines up their dicks through their soft pants Mark wonders why and how they never got to this moment before. 

“Can we? Can we, for real?” Yuta asks one last night, before pressing their lips together once more. 

Mark says, “You’re lucky I like you. Now, please touch me before I do something drastic.”

Yuta grins, distracted with his hands barely lingering over Mark’s crotch. “Drastic? Like what?”

“Like touch you first, idiot.” 

Yuta’s smile grows even more blinding, if that can be considered a thing, as he grinds down harder causing Mark to give up his teasing and moan deliriously. 

Is this the most opportune time to take that next step from friends to lovers? Probably not. It’s the middle of the week, probably neither of them are going to make it to their morning lectures. Mark’s stomach is pitifully empty from not eating a real meal before passing out. His hair is a wreck, and Yuta smells like he hasn’t showered in two days, but when Yuta shoves down his pants to replace his mouth with his hand, and his other hand tracing Mark’s tail to the base of his ass, does Mark give a fuck? No. 

He just wants to fuck. 


End file.
